


From the Desk Of...

by mickmess



Series: From the Desk Of... [1]
Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Internal Monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 16,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickmess/pseuds/mickmess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inner musings of a NASCAR champion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 04/20/2005

I don’t know why, but lately every time I see a pen I get the urge to write. I don’t care what I write as long as the pen is pressed to the paper and moving. It can be jotted down notes, a letter, numbers; it doesn’t matter. This is the same habit I had as a child. Ever since I was taught how to read and write, it’s been a passion- almost like my racecars.  
Racing isn’t just what I do. It’s who I am. My entire life has revolved around my cars and my desire to win. Before I was old enough to drive legally, I raced go-Karts and dirt bikes. Anything to get that adrenaline high. It’s funny how racing and writing are what keep me sane. They’re so different. And yet they both manage to calm me down, to soothe me.

Unlike racing, however, no one knows I’m a writer. It’s something I’ve kept to myself since childhood. If anyone ever found my old journals, I think I’d be mortified. It’s not that there’s embarrassing stuff written down- ok, that’s a lie. My point is that, well…ok so I don’t have a point. It’s just that writing is the only truly private thing I have left in my life. No one knows about it, not even Jimmie. Not even Brooke knew about it.

Actually, if she did know about my writing, she would have gotten away with a lot more than she did. After all, I went into quite a bit of detail about my affair with Jimmie. Sometimes I was tempted to leave my journal lying around, just to see the look on her face when she read it. That alone would have been worth more than she managed to take from me.

There were a few times when I wanted to share my writing with someone- mainly Jimmie. I share everything else with him, so why not? Of course, then I would start thinking about what he’d think and I’d chicken out.

Back when I was going through my divorce, my journals weren’t pretty. I distinctly remember scribbling out at least three suicide notes. There are also several entries where I was so drunk that I can’t even figure out which way I’d been holding the paper. On one page, I’d written an elaborate plan on how I was going to murder her.  
Jimmie would probably read those entries and then tell me how much he loves me. He’d hold me close and whisper about how he wishes he could have helped me through all that. Those aren’t the entries I’m afraid to let him see.

The ones about him. Those are the ones that would have him running. Some of my entries about him go on for dozens of pages. They go into great detail about him; how he looks, what he sounds like, smells like, moves like. One entry in particular would make him so red he’d be the same color as Junior’s car.

It was the entry I wrote the night after I won the Daytona 500 for the third time. After all the excitement had died down and I managed to drag myself back to my coach. He’d been waiting for me most of the night. He’d snuck out of his coach once Chandra had fallen asleep.

We made love that night. It was a first for us. Normally our sexual encounters included quickies in the transporters or rushed blowjobs in the bathroom or office at the shop. That night had been different on so many levels that it made my head reel.

Jimmie had fallen asleep well before me that night. Between winning another 500 and the experience we’d just shared, I was wired. I’d crawled out of my bed and snuck out to the table with my journal and pen. I wrote for nearly three hours that night. I wrote down every detail I could remember. I wrote down things that make me blush every time I reread those words.

Nights like that are the reason I started writing. Nights like this are the reason I haven’t stopped. Jimmie came in second today, by 2/100’s of a second. His disappointment killed me. We spent the better part of the night curled up together in my bed, venting about the day’s race. The moment I was sure he was asleep I’d snuck out here to write.  
Writing is what soothes me. It’s what calms me down to the point that I can fall asleep with a blank mind, no worries to haunt me. It’s why I carry a pen everywhere. If it weren’t for writing and racing, I wouldn’t be here right now.


	2. 07/19/2005

I don't know why I always come back here, but I do. Maybe it's the lights. Maybe it's the weather and the view. Maybe it's the massive crowds of drunken people that pretty much guarantees total anonymity. I can't be sure, but whatever the reason, I'm here again.

I've been here so many times they should know me, but they don't. I don't even give a fake name when I check in anymore. I use my real name, they give me a card to my penthouse, and I go off on my way.

Sometimes it surprises me that no one knows who I am here. Sometimes I worry. Am I really that different in and out of my firesuit; on and off the track? Without my obnoxious DuPont logos and "gay pride" paint scheme am I seriously a nobody? How is that even possible? 

Things like this never bothered me before. I've never had a problem with just blending into the crowd and being normal for five minutes. Maybe that's why I come here so much. Maybe I always come back here so I can sit down on the balcony overlooking the street with a cigarette in my hand and not worry about who sees me. I love my career and my life but there are times when it all gets so overwhelming. Times like now, when things are going as far from my way as humanly possible.

This season sucks. Oh sure, it started out well enough. We won the Daytona 500 and the drive for five was set in motion. So what the hell happened? Where did we go wrong? Why the hell do I suddenly suck? This isn't me. This isn't how I race or how my seasons go. I'm a four-time champion. People compare me to Dale Earnhardt. Women want me, I have money and all the luxuries it can buy. But I still SUCK.

After the race at Chicago I was ready to give up. I was fuming mad and completely disappointed. Winners don't have shitty races and less than stellar seasons. Champions never drop out of the top ten. So why the hell am I getting my ass handed to me week after fucking week? This isn't like me and neither was what happened after the race...

I've been pissed off plenty of times in my life. I've punched walls, drank myself into oblivion, even cheated on my ex-whore of a wife just to spite her. Jimmie's better in bed than she ever was, but that's beside the point. The point is that when I get angry I take it out on myself or inanimate objects. NEVER in my almost thirty-four years on this planet have I hit someone.

But MAN. It feel SO good to deck Bliss in the face. It was all his fault too, he brought it upon himself. Any asshole could see I wasn't in the mood to converse with anyone. So for him to come over and act like my best friend because he "feels bad" was complete bullshit. When he started talking to me I ignored him and kept walking with my head down and my shoulders hunched over. I picked up my pace in hopes that he'd take the hint and leave me alone but he just kept at it, trying to be my pal. This, the same guy who talked shit about one of my teammates at the All-Star Challenge. It seriously pissed him off that I was brushing him off like I was. He called me an asshole and I laughed.

And then he had the nerve to call me a...a...

A.FUCKING.HAS.BEEN.

I snapped. Before either of us could process what he'd said, my fist was making contact with his eye. His head snapped back and I was reeling forward with the momentum of my swing. Before I knew what was happening, people were pulling us apart and everyone was shouting. Jimmie showed up seemingly out of nowhere and pulled me away, tried to calm me down. I was shaking. Never in all my life has someone pissed me off that much.

I don't know why I snapped at Bliss like that. He's not the first person to call me a has-been. Hell, he's one in a long list of jackasses that's called me that or worse. I've had people tell me they hope I crash, or die, or burn in hell. I've had people tell me I'm an insult to the sport, that I'm an asshole, a moron, a waste of life. Which is why it makes my head pound when I try to figure out why I snapped at Bliss for saying something I've heard a million times over.

I was content with just walking away from it all and pretending it never happened. As much as I enjoyed getting out some of my aggression, it wasn't one of my finest moments. But now-

-Now NASCAR wants us to talk shit out? I don't fucking think so. There's nothing to talk out. He said something he shouldn't have said at the wrong time and got what was coming to him. When I heard the news that Mike Helton was demanding a meeting with the two of us, I took off. I came here. I always come here. And I still don't know why.


	3. 07/29/2005

If there's one thing I've learned in my life it's that betrayal comes hand in hand with trust. It's always a risk when you give yourself over to someone completely, with every last part of your being. When you love someone...when you think you're in love with them...you want them to have all of you. You want them to have your heart, your soul, your body, and everything in between. At least, that's how I feel. That's who I am. For as long as I can remember, when I loved someone I gave myself over to them entirely. And it always backfired on me, left me missing a piece of myself.

The first time it happened, it came out of left field. I'd been happily married, or so I thought, for years. I thought I'd found the woman I'd spend the rest of my life with. I thought we'd have kids together and build a life together and climb mountains together. I thought she was everything, I did anything and everything to make her happy. I would have walked to the ends of the Earth for her if she really wanted me to. So when she came to me one day, telling me she wanted a divorce, my world shattered. Everything I'd ever known with this woman suddenly seemed like a lie. Divorce? She wanted a divorce? But weren't we good Christians? Good Christians don't get divorced. They stick together and look to God for help, for guidance. They work things out and stay together forever. That's how it's supposed to be. But not in her eyes. I wasn't good enough for her anymore. So she took off. She took off with my money and my boats and the house and just about everything else she wanted. She got something she didn't want, too. She left with my broken heart still wrapped around her finger. 

After she was gone and out of the picture, my life fell to pieces. What was I supposed to do when the only thing I'd ever known had been thrown out the window like a piece of garbage onto the highway? I was lost and had no way of knowing how to find myself. The ache in the pit of my stomach grew more and more with each passing day. Nobody ever noticed how badly I was hurting. If they did notice, they just didn't care. They ignored it and went about their business. Night after endless night I sat alone with a bottle of scotch and a shotglass which often went unused because it was just easier to drink from the bottle, to make the liquid pour down my throat and singe every nerve it touched. The scotch helped, if only for a little while. It numbed my aching head, my aching heart. It made everything fuzzy and unreal and so very far away.

By the time someone finally noticed my pain and suffering, it was almost too late. I was on the brink of giving everything up, throwing it all away. I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and not walk up. I wanted life to stop, the Earth to stop spinning, everything to just come to an end. And there he was. There he was in all his glory, blue eyes sparkling with concern, wanting me to let him in, to help me. He would come to me night after night, convincing me the scotch wasn't helping, forcing me to open up to him. There were nights where he would literally hold me down and force me to cry, to let it out, to open up to him just so I wouldn't take another drink. And when I'd been resolved to a sobbing mess barely able to form a coherent thought, he'd pull me into his arms and hold me. He'd squeeze me tight and rock me gently, whisper soothing things into my ear. He'd tell me how he could relate to how I felt. After all, he'd lost someone just as precious to him, although on an entirely different level.

He was my personal savior and I still believe that if he hadn't showed up on my doorstep I really wouldn't be here anymore. He got me to open up again, he got me back into life. The ache in my stomach started to melt away and I was slowly turning back into my old self, into the person I was long before I'd ever met her. He showed me that there was still plenty of love to be had in the world. He gave it to me. He gave me everything I wanted, everything I asked for. He waited day after day for me to trust him, to open up to him, to give myself over to him completely. It took time. It took a long, long time. Eventually, it was too long. He just couldn't stand to wait for me anymore and he moved on. Part of me wants to hate him for making me so vulnerable and leaving me there. Part of me understands why he did it. Why he found himself someone new, someone who wasn't broken. It still hurts to see the two of them together, sharing Buds and laughing together, the desire in their eyes for one another completely obvious.  
After he turned away from me, I didn't know what to do. I slowly started to sink into my old habits. The scotch came back out, shotglasses not even a thought in my mind. I would sit alone in my coach and wallow over him, over her, over everything that had ever gone wrong in my life. Twice I'd been betrayed, twice I'd had my heart crushed into hundreds of little pieces. Twice I felt like it was my fault, like I'd done something completely wrong. Maybe I just wasn't meant to be loved.

Then he came along. My boy. My protégé. My best friend and confidante. He saw through the act I put on for everyone in the garage. Even after knowing me for barely a week, he saw through it. He'd poke and prod, try to get me to open up, but I couldn't. Not after all I'd been through. I couldn't bear to do it all again. But he was persistent. He'd look at me with those big brown eyes, shining with concern, and he'd beg me to tell him what happened. Who'd turned me into such a miserable person? Who'd hurt me this bad that I couldn't even look him in the eye and tell him nothing was wrong? It all came out in one long rush one night. He'd showed up unexpectedly at my door while I'd been having a heart to heart with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label. He'd taken one look at me and refused to leave, he insisted he was staying, even if I just stared at him all night. For a while that's what I did. I stared at him. I studied his face, every last little detail. The slight lines around his eyes, the way his lips pressed together ever so slightly, the intensity in his eyes as he stared me down. It was all too much to handle. The moment my eyes met his, everything came out. How she'd torn me to pieces. How he'd come along and built me back up, only to tear me down again. How I was a useless, pathetic, unlovable shell of a man who didn't deserve to live.

Even though I'd vowed to never let anyone in again after that second time, even though I'd promised myself it'd be just me for the rest of time, even though I knew better than to trust anyone anymore...I let him in. My boy. I showed him what was inside and he didn't go running. He delved deeper, brought out parts of me I didn't know still existed. He stuck by me through the best, the worst, and everything in between. No matter how many times I tried to push him away, he kept coming back. He's made me a better person, better than I ever was before. My boy. Mine. And he is. He warned me ahead of time that he was going to propose to her. He told me that he cared about her, wanted to be with her, but that he wasn't going to propose unless he had my blessing. As much as he cared for her, he would have dropped everything to stay with me. I knew it was all true, I saw it in his eyes. So I gave him my blessing. 

And then he shocked me. He brought her over one day after he'd proposed and told her about us, with me standing right there. He told her that he loved me, that he wanted to be with me. That he loved her too but it was a different kind of love. It was all so confusing and terrifying, and I really thought she was going to flip out and tell everyone and that both our lives would be over. 

But then SHE shocked me. She confessed that she'd had a feeling. That she sort of knew. That she loved him to death and wanted to stay with him, but if I was what made him happy, she wanted him to be with me. So they put on a show. Had their wedding, exchanged their vows, let everyone believe they were the happy newlywed couple they were perceived as. But every single night, he came back to me. She started dating someone else and he stayed with me. They stay together at the track for publicity's sake, but behind closed doors, we all know the truth. 

He's mine. MINE. And I love that word. I love that he put everything on the line for me. I love that he comes to bed with me every night, wakes up with me every morning. I love how he can look into my eyes and no matter what I'm doing he knows what I'm thinking. I love the way he sees right through every single one of my acts. I love how he says my name when we're making love, how he moans softly and begs me for more and knows every little place to touch that drives me wild.

And yet part of me is terrified. Part of me is scared that somehow things will go wrong again. I sit back sometimes and look at how things are and wonder how he couldn't want more. He's had so much success this season, winning races, leading the points, driving his ass off to be his best. And I'm in the background barely able to keep my car on the track every week. Why would he want to be with me when I'm so much less than he is? I look at him sometimes and feel worthless. He's amazing, near perfection, and what am I? 

Am I a has been? Am I past my prime? Are my glory days really over? Thoughts like this haunt me day in and day out lately. They're ridiculous fears. I have no reason to think this way. Everyone has a bad season or two somewhere along the line. We all fall into that "What the fuck is going on?" category from time to time. We all have our ups and downs and in the long run, everything works out. I know that. I believe it, deep down in my heart that no matter what happens, I'll always be me, he'll always be him, and we'll always be together. He and I, we were meant to be. He's what my life was leading up to. It's almost like he's my reward for all the pain and heartache I went through.  
I look at him, sitting in the chair next to me, sleeping with his head against the side of the plane, and I know. I know that no matter what happens, I'll always have him. He'll never do to me what they did. He'll never hurt me or break my heart after I've spent so long trying to piece it back together. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him. He's my boy. He's Jimmie, and he's mine and no matter what else happens, I'm content with knowing that. I'm content that if all else fails, I have him and I always will. He's got every last part of me. He's got my heart, my soul, my body, and everything in between.


	4. 10/23/2005

I have never wanted a win so bad. Those last few laps were complete agony for me. I could barely hold onto the wheel I was shaking so bad. Even through the layers of clothing I could feel how badly I was sweating. Hell, I think I may have been shaking more than the car.

When Tony got on my back bumper on the final lap I thought I was done for. I was waiting for that infamous Stewart Bump-and-Run. I knew it was coming. When I managed to cross the finish line in first place I’d let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. My entire body went slack with relief and I had one thing on my mind.  
   
BURN. OUT.  
   
That was the best burn out I’ve ever done in my life. When I climbed out of my car, I couldn’t even hear the usual boos. They were drowned out by the cheers and screams of victory coming from the crowd forming on the track in our make-shift victory lane. I slapped every hand I saw, grabbed Ingrid and kissed her, hell I almost kissed Steve.

Through it all, though, was a twinge of guilt. I got greedy today and I know it. I haven’t had a win in so damn long and it was in my grasp and I wasn’t letting go for anything. Not even for Jimmie.

Looking back on it now that the race is over with, it would’ve been smart as an owner to let him lead a couple laps and get the five bonus points. After all, he IS in the chase for the championship. It would have given him the boost he needed to stay tied with Tony. If he’d won, he’d be leading the points instead of trailing behind. Of course, none of that mattered when I was behind the wheel. No, it was all about MY car and MY lead and MY win.

If I’d let him lead and get his points he would have stuck around victory lane and celebrated instead of slapping my hand and storming off like he did. The look on his face killed me. It was like he’d been betrayed by his best friend…which I guess in a way he was. Jimmie never asks me for anything and the one time he needed something from me, I let him down. I’m such a moron.

Once the hooplah in Victory Lane ended, the hat dance concluded, and every reporter was gone, I bolted back to the coach to celebrate with Jimmie. Of course, he wasn’t there. A Post-It note on the fridge said it all.  
   
Left with Chani.  
Thanks a lot, “PAL.”  
   
I was crushed. I called his cell and got the voicemail. Chandra didn’t pick up either. I gave up after half an hour and took a shower. Then I did the only thing I could think of--  
   
\--called the team for a party.  
   
After all, I DID win today. He’ll forgive me tomorrow. Always does.


	5. 09/26/2006

Six. Half a dozen. One more than five. One less than seven. The square root of thirty-six. SIX. The number of points between me and another championship. I never thought the season would turn around like this. After last year’s less than stellar showing, my hopes for this season were relatively low. Just making the chase seemed like a huge accomplishment. Now here I am, trailing Jeff Burton (of all the people!) by six points with only eight races to go.

I’m not getting my hopes up or raising my expectations. I know damn well all this can change in an instant. All it takes is one inopportune Mulligan and I’m back down at the bottom of the pile again. The championship is still anyone’s to win and I know better than most how quickly the tide changes. I’ve already given my team a speech, warning them not to count their eggs just yet.

Of course, then Steve went and made a crack about counting the sheep instead, which made no sense but had everyone laughing anyway. The kid may not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier but he knows what I mean and he was quick to back me up. Sure, we all want this championship but it’s no good to get carried away so soon.

Of course, along with the thrill of being second by such a miniscule amount is the nagging guilt that Jimmie’s season seems to be floundering. Apparently his summer slump had a slight delay and now that it’s kicked in he’s down in eighth place. I hate it for him. For the past four years he and his team have worked hard, been consistent and competitive but always fallen short. I know another season of coming in second (or worse) will tear him apart.

Eight races. That’s it. Eight races, eight weeks. Two months and it’s all over again. Someone will be celebrating the biggest victory of the season and nine others will walk away with heads hanging. While I want nothing more than to hoist that trophy, I think I’d rather have it be Jimmie than anyone else. He deserves it.

Honestly. Six points and eight races be damned. If it comes down to me and him in those final laps, I’d gladly move aside and give it to him. That may not go over well with some people, but I can easily justify it. I’ve already won four, he’s never gotten one. I own his car which means technically this would be my championship too.

…right?

Who am I kidding?

If it came down to me and him I’d fight him tooth and nail and when the checkers flew we’d figure out how to deal with the outcome.

That’s still eight races away though. For now I’ll just concentrate on six. On second. On a championship just out of reach.


	6. 10/01/2006

I hate this. I fucking give up. HOW does this happen? How do we go from six points out of first to midpack in ONE week? I mean, I know I told my team not to get their hopes up, but this is ridiculous. My head hurts just thinking about it. Hell, my whole body hurts. My chest is so damn tight it feels like I’m having a heart attack. After what the press put me through today, I wouldn’t be surprised if I am.  
   
It’s days like today that I hate the press. I know they have a job to do, but geez! I could barely form a sentence and they knew it. Once I’d gotten out of my car, I hightailed it to the hauler. When I got on, I collapsed onto the floor. I was a mess. I started shaking and gasping for air, dry heaving. I still feel sick to my stomach, but not nearly as bad as I was. It’d taken me ten minutes to compose myself enough to go out and face them. Even then, I could feel myself falling apart. I had a lump in my throat and the more I talked the bigger it got. All my public speaking training, all my years of trying to hide my emotions, and I nearly lost it. Over a damn race. I felt like an idiot, but that just made me feel worse and I almost lost it completely.  
   
I don’t even remember what I said to the reporters. Probably my usual barrage of excuses and think positive lines. I could have told them I’m a flaming homosexual for all I know. Not that that would shock anyone, they’ve all been saying it for years now. Never mind the fact that I was married and am now engaged to a gorgeous woman.  
   
…although it might shock them to know Ingrid’s really a lesbian. I honestly couldn’t have a more perfect beard. Jimmie always cracks jokes about us, but hell. He’s the only one I’d let get away with it.  
   
Jimmie. My saving grace. Were it not for him, I’d still be on the kitchen floor bawling my eyes out right now. He showed up right after the race ended and laid there with me until I calmed down. After all this time, I’m still not used to being the one getting taken care of. The one being held and caressed and comforted. I can’t say I don’t like it, though. I love every second of his tenderness and caring. Especially on nights like tonight when I really need it. I love him so much, just for being here. All he has to do is give me those sympathetic eyes and hold me in his arms. All’s right with the world again when we’re lying together, all tangled up in one another.  
   
Fuck this weekend. Fuck this track. Fuck the points and the reporters and the stress. Fuck the tears and headaches. There’s always next week, right?


	7. 10/16/2006

I don’t get it. I mean, I know bad luck is unavoidable, but man! Can we ever catch a break? It’s like every week gets worse and worse. Five races to go and we’ve basically resigned ourselves to the fact that our best bet is sixth place. Top five would be a miracle with the way things are going. It’s insane. Wasn’t it two weeks ago that we were second in points? How quickly things change is incredible.  
   
Out of all the people in the chase, I know I should know best about how fate works. Even so, I can’t help but be surprised by the strange twists this season keeps taking. We run well, we gain points, we blow people away. Two days later our car won’t run, we get wrecked, and we struggle jus to get by.  
   
Surprisingly, my head hasn’t fallen yet. I’m still standing tall and my pride in in tact. Unlike last year, I’m not tearing myself apart. I’m rolling with things and doing my best to look forward. If not for myself, then for my team. For my crew and my car owner and my teammates - except Brian, of course. I still think he should rot in hell. I laugh when he walks through the shop and everyone goes out of their way to avoid him.  
   
Unlike last season, I’m not worried. I’m not staying awake all night mulling over what went wrong. I don’t pray for the bad press to stop, because I ignore it. Although, the volume has decreased exponentially since last season. The media folk have better things to focus on, like what an ass Brian is and how improved Junior’s team is  
   
Junior’s probably the biggest shock of the season for me. I’ve known the guy since I broke into NASCAR thanks to his dad. It seems like the old “Show up late for everything and bitch nonstop” Junior has been replaced by a man who knows the meaning of “maturity”. Owning his own team, a production company, hosting a radio show, and god only knows what else he does…it’s all made him grow up. I haven’t seen one of his famous post-race hissy fits in ages. That alone speaks praises for how much he’s changed. I’m proud of him, and I know his dad would be too.  
   
It’ really October already? It’s hard to believe there’s only five races left to the season. Every year the weeks go by faster. There’s always so much going on that it’s hard to stop and catch your breath. You just keep moving and working and the next thing you know you’re sitting at a round table surrounded by your team, friends, and family in a banquet room at the Waldorf-Astoria. You give a speech, you listen to everyone else speak, you go to after parties, and you go home.  
   
Next thing you know, it’s February and the cycle repeats itself again.


	8. 01/20/2007

The three most incredible words I’ve ever heard in my entire life came out of Ingrid’s mouth a few months ago. They weren’t “I love you”. They weren’t “Lets get married”. They weren’t even “I want sex.” Although the last three definitely led to it. The greatest words she’s ever spoken to me were “Jeff I’m pregnant.” That one little sentence changed my world. Life as I knew it changed entirely and I’m pretty sure I felt the Earth start spinning just a little slower as I processed what she told me.  
   
Pregnant. MY Ingrid. MY wife. She was with child. In nine months, we’d be bringing a life into this world. A life that we’d be responsible for raising and taking care of until the day we die. My Ingrid was carrying the heir to a life of near royalty, who would be spoiled rotten and shown off to the world and given everything it could ever imagine wanting or needing. My wife was about to have a son or daughter who would carry on my family name for years to come.  
   
I’m going to be a father.  
   
In nine months, I’m going to be holding a child that I helped create. A son or daughter that I’m never going to stop loving. The thought that Ingrid and I did something so amazing together surmounts anything else I’ve ever done in my life. Nothing can compare to finding out I’m going to be a father. No amount of championships or wins will ever take the place of the feeling I get when I think about raising a child. I’ve waited for this time in my life since I was old enough to perceive exactly what it meant. I’ve wanted to be a father, a GOOD father, for years. And now it’s happening.  
   
We went baby shopping during the off season. Spent a lot of time in New York going from store to store picking out clothes and toys and bottles and furniture. We’ve narrowed it down to two cribs, one for a boy and one for a girl. We don’t know yet what we’re having. We don’t want to know until our child comes into this world. So until that moment we’ll just shop and fight over baby names and try to find a nice neutral design for the nursery. Well…nurseries, seeing as we’ll need one in every place we own. I’m thinking of selling the apartment in New York for a bigger one because the one we have right now is barely big enough for the two of us.  
   
I’ve doubted God and his existence at many times in my life. I know now that he exists because of this child. This child is a gift. This child is a miracle and I can’t stop thinking about how in some way I owe this all to the man upstairs. If it wasn’t for the things that happened to me before, I’d never be where I am now. If I’d suffered through things with the hell beast and had children with her, I may never have had the chance to meet Ingrid and start a family with her. I would have given anything back then to start a family with her but now I know it was all for the better that we never made it that far. Having a family with her would have been the stupidest thing I could have ever done in my life. Ingrid is the one I was meant to be with. The woman who was meant to bear my children and share a life with.  
   
Ingrid is without a doubt the greatest thing that’s happened to me in many years. She gets me on a million different levels and she’s patient enough to deal with me when my stress is through the roof and I don’t know which way is up. She’s been there to hold me together when things were falling apart and she always knows just what to say to make me smile. I never believed in soul mates until I met her. I knew from the first time we met that she was the one. I don’t know how. There were no angels singing or fancy lighting effects, no inspirational power chords. I just took one look at her and knew that when the timing was right, we’d find one another and things would work themselves out. I can’t put into words how happy I am that I was right.  
   
My career is beyond what I ever imagined it could be. I’ve got the most amazing friends anyone could ever ask for. I have a supportive, loving family that would do anything to help me out. I’m married to the most incredible woman on the planet. I’m going to be a father. Nothing could make my life better than it is right at this very moment. Nothing.


	9. 04/04/2007

I don’t understand how someone can change so much. He used to be my friend. My best friend. MORE than a friend. He was my everything. My lover, my world. We were inseparable and meant to be and the perfect fit and we were supposed to be together forever. Me and him. Him and me. The world revolved around us and how happy we were. How much we loved one another and loved being with one another.  
   
…and then suddenly it all changed.  
   
I lost him. I don’t know how or why but I did. Maybe he got jealous of Ingrid and how much time we spent together. Maybe he felt I was pushing him to the side because I started spending more time with our other teammate than with him. I’m not sure, but he got distant. He wouldn’t wait for me after races, he wouldn’t fly home with me, all his free time was for more important things.  
   
…like her.  
   
I know they love one another. It’s why she kept up the façade for so long when she knew it was me he always came crawling to. Of course, the need for normalcy, for safety…it probably won out in the end. She could give him the one thing I couldn’t. Public affection. No hiding. Freedom to do and say anything without consequence.  
   
…I can’t say I blame him.  
   
I’m always going to love him. To think about him and crave him…but I know that with Ingrid I have a better chance. Ing gave me the one thing he couldn’t. The same way she gave him the one thing I couldn’t. The ability to have children. The chance to be happy in a way that we could never make one another happy. No more hiding. No more doubting. No more fear of being caught.  
   
…but I never thought that once he got all that he’d turn on me.  
   
The race on Sunday killed me. I was exhausted and sweating up a storm and just drained in every way possible. But I was hurt too. Us drifting apart was a mutual thing and had almost no impact on our friendship. We were able to go back to just being us. Friends, teammates, Owner/Driver. Give and take on both sides, always. We still talked about everything and hung out all the time and everything was like it had been before.  
   
So then why the hell wouldn’t he step aside and let me have the win? He knew my car was better and faster and stronger. So why couldn’t he let me have what was rightfully mine? If Chad hadn’t asked Steve for our set up, he would have been running at the back of the pack all day, laps down and quite possibly gotten caught in a wreck and had an early day. We literally gave them everything to race competitively and the son of a bitch couldn’t even show the decency to thank me properly and let me have the win. I earned it. I raced harder and faster all day. I was the one turning the corners right and getting into the throttle at just the right time.   
   
Fuck, if it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t even have a ride with HMS to begin with!  
   
And this is the thanks I get from that little shit. A second place finish by tenths of a second while he’s off in Victory Lane for the third time in four races and I’m stuck with all the questions about what it was like to fight off my teammate for a win. Again.  
   
It’s shitty. He’s shitty.


	10. 04/18/2007

_I’m on the outside, I’m looking in…_  
   
God, how many times have those words rang true in my life? There’s always been a time when I felt like I didn’t fit in, like no one really got me and I was just watching the world pass me by. Like some freak who didn’t belong in one place or the other so I just stood and watched everyone else getting along and having fun and there I was…alone.  
   
 _I can see through you, see your true colors_  
   
Then he came along and changed all of that. He pulled me in and let me see that I wasn’t alone, that there were truly people around who were like me and cared for me. He put me back together and made me into a new person, a better person.   
   
 _Cause inside you’re ugly, ugly like me_  
   
He was just like me. He was sad and lonely and pretending to be something…someone…that he wasn’t. A loner like me, just looking for someone to lean on, to share things with. We took care of one another, showed each other the compassion and understanding no one else ever did or would or could.  
   
 _I can see through you, see to the real you._  
   
Of course, after a while, we both moved on. Sick of one another, I guess. Still caring, but…not really. Things change. People change. We found love in new places, with new people. The bond is still there, but…it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same. We won’t let it be. There’s a fine line between what was and what is, but we’ll never cross it. Come close, but not close enough. He’ll always be my boy, but we both know…  
   
I’ve always loved Staind. There’s times when it seems like the songs are written about me. This one especially. I don’t know why I’m so emo right now. I had a good weekend. Texas has never been good to me but this weekend it was. We ran hard and strong and fast and my teammates were right there with me all day. Of course, it didn’t end the way we would have wanted it to, but it’s a vast improvement over years past. I even had a good time before the race, at my fan club event.  
   
Those damn events normally bore the hell out of me. I answer the same questions over and over, talk to the same types of people. Sign hundreds of autographs, take so many pictures I go blind from the flashes, eat too much. But this one was different and I’m not sure why. Maybe it was the little boy who gave me a lucky penny. Or the elderly group of women who pinched my cheeks and told me how much they loved me. It could have been that one woman with the fiery red hair who asked me to sign her ankle so she could get it tattooed above her “24” tattoo. She seemed thrilled for all types of reasons when I knelt down to scribble my name. I wonder how it came out…or if she even went through with it.  
   
Maybe I’m just in a mood because I didn’t get enough sleep. Ingrid’s gotten into the cravings stage of her pregnancy and the last few nights I’ve been sent out in my pajamas for ice cream, pickles, peanut butter, donuts, and…salmon. That had to be the weirdest trip of all. Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to find SALMON at two in the morning? Well I do. It’s near impossible, believe me. When I walked into Walmart, people looked at me like I was insane. Not like I expected them to actually have it, but at least I could say I made the effort. Let it be known that Jeff Gordon will go to any lengths to make a pregnant woman happy. Even if it means making a fool of myself.  
   
I should…go…do something. Anything. Just to get out of this terrible funk. Phoenix is this weekend and I think we’ll do okay. We’ve got to leave early Thursday morning instead of at night this time. At least we’ll have Sunday off to relax and kick back. Maybe we’ll go out on the lake and see what’s up. Maybe the gang will have the kite-tube up and kicking. It’d make my day to watch them all trying to kill themselves on that thing again. Or maybe me and Ing will just stay in the house and have a nice quiet day to ourselves for once. That sounds kind of enjoyable…


	11. 09/17/2007

Life has never seemed more perfect. I’m a happily married man, I have a baby girl, an amazing career, and I’m in contention for the championship. I don’t think anything could ruin this. Nothing is going to bring me down from the high I’m on. Even the threat of things going downhill doesn’t affect me. For right now, for this very moment, it’s all perfect and untouchable.  
   
Ella Sofia just went down for a nap. She’s been sleeping less and less lately, but she still naps a whole lot. And she eats a bunch too. Seems like every time I turn around she’s attached to Ingrid, drinking like it’s her last meal. That has to be one of the most incredible things to watch. The bond those two share is off the charts.  
   
The clothes, though. God, it seems like every time we go out, we come home with four more outfits. And then there’s a three hour modeling session. Not that I’m really surprised. Once a model, always a model, after all. It’s cute though. It’s fun playing baby fashion show. Ingrid loves to change her outfits and pose with her and I love snapping picture after picture of them together. They’re both huge hams.  
   
Diapers aren’t so bad, either. At first I thought it’d be horrible, but it’s really not. Obviously the stench is awful, but I’ve learned to deal with it. It’s amazing how she waits for me to open the diaper before deciding to go sometimes. She gets me every damn time, too. Ridiculous, I tell you. Amusing sometimes, but mostly just ridiculous. Sometimes I think she thinks it’s a game. Lets see how much we can gross out daddy today!  
   
Daddy. That word still amazes me. I’m a daddy. I helped create this gorgeous little brown-haired, blue-eyed girl. Everyone says she looks like me. I guess I see it a little. There’s no denying she has my eyes. Those bright crystal blue eyes with more depth than I’ve ever seen. Not even looking into my own gaze in the mirror can match what I see in Ella’s eyes. It’s like she’s looking directly into my soul and it makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. I never understood what Ingrid meant about my eyes until I looked into my daughter’s.  
   
On another pace, things with Ingrid are incredible. Ever since she found out she was pregnant, she’s had t his glow that just won’t go away. Seeing her with Ella…that look of complete adoration on her face…it makes me fall in love with her over and over again. The way she smiles with Ella does something funny, how she holds her so tenderly when she’s feeding her…it’s all so endearing. I want to hold her every second of the day. Always want her with me, near me, holding or touching her somehow.  
   
Ingrid and Ella make me feel so much more alive. They’re my strength and my life, the reason I get out of bed every morning. The two most important people in my life. This is what I’ve wanted for so many years. A family of my own. A wife and children and complete happiness. I know I’m repeating myself, but life is perfect. I couldn’t think of anything that could make it better.


	12. 11/11/2007

I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It was right there, all season, tight in my fist. And then he came along and took it all away. Pried it right out of my fingers with no effort at all and now I’m done for. I’m losing hope, and fast. One race left and with the way things have been going the last couple weeks, I don’t stand a chance in hell. 88 points and counting. I can only hope that his record at Homestead holds up and I somehow manage to get ahead of him and stay there. I can only wish for a blown tire or a pit road penalty or some other flaw that they’ve managed to avoid for four straight weeks now.  
   
Funny, that used to be my forte. Being flawless and winning week after week used to be something that only I could do and everyone else just sat around with their thumbs up their asses, trying to be even half as good as I was. They came to me for advice; he came to me for advice. He hung on my every word and took every bit of help I offered and then he became me. Better than me, even. And god, that thought hurts.  
   
It’s like that whole Frankenstein theory. The monster soon kills its creator. The tables turn and soon the creator is running for his life, trying to outrun and outwit his own creation because of some huge character flaw that he never even considered. I created Jimmie and made him into the purebred champion he now is and where does that leave me? 88 points out of a championship, bowing down in victory lane to him like some pathetic lapdog. Telling the press how incredible he is and how proud I am of him and what an honor it is to have him as a teammate.  
   
But really? Really?  
   
I want to throttle his scrawny fucking neck until his eyeballs come out of the sockets. Among other things, of course. The little twit is too proud to even thank me in victory lane anymore. Sure, he mentions Mr. H and his crew and Chad. But when was the last time he even thought to mention my name in all that? Me, the guy who convinced Rick he was the perfect choice. The one who practically got down on my knees and BEGGED Lowe’s to sponsor him.  
   
It’s been so long I can’t even remember. Not like it matters anyway. All that fun we used to have together is long gone. We’ve got our own lives now, wives and children and dogs and everything else going on. Why should something like thanking one another in victory lane really matter? It’s not like I mention him…much.  
   
I think I give up on it all together. Why should I care what he does in victory lane? Why should it bother me if he wins this year and I don’t? I’ll still have two championships over his head and a stack of stats he’ll never be able to touch. I’ll still have my gorgeous, amazing wife and our incredible daughter. I have a name for myself and all kinds of achievements that he could only dream of having. So really, one championship means nothing.  
   
…only it does.  
   
Denial doesn’t suit me very well. I used to laugh at guys like me, washed up has-beens trying to regain some of the glory days and then coming up with excuses and ways to soften the blow of being outdone by the very people they used to coach and take under their wings back in their hay-day. Have I really become that pathetic? Am I washed up? Am I a has been? A once was? God, I hope not. I know it’s been a while since my last championship but I still contend and I still give it my all every damn week. Mr. H gives me winning equipment and a winning team and an awesome crew chief to get me through all of this. I have to be doing something right to deserve all of that and more.  
   
…right?  
   
God, when did I turn into this pathetic little creature? Since when do I worry about being washed up? I’ve never been like this. Not once in my life have I ever sat around worrying about what other people thought of me or where my life was headed.  
   
But then…I’ve always had a plan. Always had goals and things to work for. Now I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m a four time champion with 81 wins under my belt. More than even my greatest competitor could rack up. I’ve got a wife and a daughter and this amazing little family of my own. I have an office full of awards and trophies, a children’s hospital, my own brand of wine, houses all over the place, fancy cars, happiness. I have everything and then some. What’s left to want, to strive for, to plan for? Having a child makes making plans less than possible. You want to go to the park and they want to scream at you until you bring them back in the house. You want to sleep and they want you to change their diaper.  
   
I do know one thing, though.  
   
I want to beat him. Badly.  
   
I want to fight him to the death next weekend for that championship. If it comes down to us battling it out, banging doors and trading paint and rubbing tires, then so be it. I refuse to go down without a fight. I want this championship, if for no other reason than to make sure that he doesn’t get it. I deserve this championship. I’ve worked too hard and too long and been disappointed too many times NOT to have it. It’s mine. That trophy is going to have my name on it by the time all is said and done and all the dust settles. In the end, it’s going to be me in Victory Lane, hoisting that thing over my head. It’ll be me at the head table in New York.  
   
Come hell or high water.


	13. 02/17/2008

The off season was a short one, full of good times and low stress. Ingrid and I spent Christmas and New Years in Mexico with Ella. It was her first time visiting there and I think she had an incredible time. She loved playing on the beach, flinging sand and water all over the place. We spent the rest of our time in our apartment in New York. We went to lunch a few times a week, took the baby all over the place. It was so adorable, the way Ing would bundle her up in her coat with a little scarf and hat, baby-sized mittens that wouldn’t have fit on my big toe. We went for walks every afternoon through Central Park, with the stroller toting Ella and the dog. It was all so…normal. So…surreal. For a couple of weeks, I finally found out what it was like to be an ordinary person, with a wife and a child living in an apartment in complete anonymity. Nobody bothered us, no one asked for autographs, and racing was far off in the distance.  
   
At least, that’s how it seemed. Before I knew it testing was two days away and we were packing up our neat, quiet little family and preparing to spend a couple of days down in Daytona to prepare for Speedweek. Then it would be off to Las Vegas and California. Stopped in New York again to host Live! With Kelly while Regis was off vacationing. Media events galore. Filming new commercials and shooting new photos. Publicity appearances all over the place. I barely had time to shave for almost two weeks between working and coming home to take care of my girls.  
   
Not that I’m complaining. Not in the least. I love my career and all the responsibilities that come with it. I couldn’t wait to get back in the car and drive. I was looking forward to having Junior for a teammate this year. He’d spent a lot of time during the off season coming into the shop to prepare himself for his new ride. And then he shocked the shit out of me by showing up in Daytona to watch the rest of us test. I couldn’t believe my eyes when he came sauntering into the garage with his jacket collar turned up and his hat pulled down over his eyes, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched, as if it would somehow keep the media from realizing he was there. It really meant a lot to me that he was going so far out of his way to make himself a part of our team. I’ve always respected Junior, but that just went above and beyond in my book. No matter what happens this season, I know he’s trying his damndest to live up to everyone’s expectations, as well as his own.  
   
Testing is testing. It’s boring and long. It’s work in the purest form for us. It’s the one time every year that all of us can’t wait to get out of the car and move on to something else because we can only take so much of driving ten laps, coming in to break them down, then repeating the process all morning and afternoon long. And the weather in Vegas didn’t help matters any. Neither did my car puking all over the track. I have to admit, I was actually sort of glad when the engine died on me. It was an excuse to get out and go back to my wife and daughter.  
   
It’s almost scary how quickly Ella’s grown on me. I was afraid that I’d somehow not be able to handle being a father. Thought that it’d be a growing and learning process and that in the beginning I wouldn’t know what to do with her or how to love her. It’s been the exact opposite though. From the moment Ella came into the world, I’ve loved her with all my being. I’ve doted on her like every adoring father does with their daughter. I want to spend every second of my day holding her and playing with her, watching her learn and grow. It’s amazing how far she’s come. She stands a little bit now if we’re holding her up. She’s gotten the crawling thing down and she babbles up a storm. It’s hard to believe she’s almost eight months old already. Seems like just yesterday Ing even told me she was pregnant.  
   
Ingrid. My wife. My beautiful bride. I’d be nothing without her in my life. She and Ella have become my world in the past year or so. She’s gorgeous and perfect and I couldn’t be more honored to have her on my arm every day of my life. She’s sexy as hell too. I look at her sometimes and can’t believe that a year ago she was pregnant. She works hard to keep herself looking stunning. She’s in better shape now than before she had Ella. And it shows too. Especially in those photos gracing the pages of Sports Illustrated’s Swimsuit Edition. God, I couldn’t have been more proud of her when I saw those. It was something that she really wanted to do and I never imagined they’d be able to make her look even MORE beautiful than she already is.  
   
Of course, with the good must come the back and that’s where today comes into play. The 50th running of the Daytona 500. Ten years since Dale Earnhardt won his first and only 500. I wanted to win it so badly. I wanted the victory so bad I could taste it. Of course, even after a strong run in the Shootout (with a backup car from DARLINGTON!) and the Duels, I still managed to fuck up early and finish the race in dead last...or close to it. I was so disappointed that I haven’t even wanted to look at the standings yet. I just know it’s probably terrible and we’re all really let down. I can only hope that next week in California is a whole lot better. In a sick sort of way I take comfort in the fact that Jimmie and Casey had shitty races too. Jimmie’s car was running like shit before he finally got into a wreck and then Casey…poor Casey. Hit the wall with five to go. I really thought he had an awesome chance at the win, right up until he hesitated getting out in front of Tony. If he’d made that move, he’d probably be the one celebrating right now instead of Newman.  
   
Newman. Oh, Newman. Words will never be able to properly describe how HAPPY I am that he crossed that finish line first. It was obvious Junior didn’t stand a chance, and I wasn’t really expecting much out of Elliott or Kasey. They had strong cars, but not nearly enough of what it was going to take to pass by Tony and Kyle. Kyle, that little shit. He was never one of my favorite people, but I’ll be damned if he hasn’t turned into a complete twat since he signed with Gibbs. His racing has gotten out of line and his attitude is even worse. I know he’s only 22, but the kid needs to grow up and start acting like an adult if he wants to keep racing with us. I just hope he learns his lesson before it’s too late.  
   
Oh well. Not much I can really do about any of this. Just have to look to next week and the one after that and the 30something more after THAT. It’s a long season and tonight was just one of many more to come. I’ve got high hopes for this season and I’m not going to let one race sour that.


	14. 02/24/2008

Every time I look at my little girl, I see the future. I see skinned knees and ballet recitals. I see ribbons and dresses. I see boyfriends, slumber parties, graduation, wedding gowns. I wonder what kind of a woman she’ll turn out to be. If she’ll have her mother’s laugh and my twisted sense of humor. Maybe she’ll have Ing’s impeccable taste in clothing and my horrible singing voice. I’m waiting for the day she asks me for a pony and I actually buy one for her. I can’t wait to teach her the ABC’s and how to ride a bike. Every day I look at her and she’s a little bit bigger, a little bit older, and a little more aware of the world around her. I still can’t believe she’s almost nine months old. The time’s been flying.  
   
There’s one thing that always sticks out, though. It’s something everyone always talks about and asks me about, but I never know how to answer. They all want to know if she’s going to be a racer like me. If one day she’s going to share my passion for all things fast and competitive and want to follow in her daddy’s footsteps. They want to know if twenty years from now there’s going to be another Gordon behind the wheel. Another Gordon winning races and championships, dominating the sport like her father did for so many years before her. I don’t have an answer because it’s too soon to tell. At least, that’s what I tell everyone. I know the truth though.  
   
Ella’s a born racer. I know she’s young, but it’s there. That spark. That fire. It’s not a lie when people say Ella’s all me. She’s got my eyes and a lot of my facial features, sure, but it’s so much more than that. Ingrid’s told me so many times that she has my fire. She inherited that shifty-eyed look. Those eyes that bore into you and leave you trembling in their wake. She’s got my attitude. That “I can do it myself without help or I won’t do it at all” attitude. I see it in her every day. Trying to stand on her own, crawling everywhere, getting annoyed when we pick her up to try and make her life easier. It’s always on her own terms or not at all.  
   
Whenever we get close to my car on raceday, she freaks out. She squirms and wiggles and reaches for it. When I stand her up on the window, she clings to it, like it’s going to disappear if she doesn’t. She bangs on the hood, plays with the decals, looks at it in amazement. And I know that to a baby it’s all about the colors and the shiny objects, but it’s more than that with her. She doesn’t want to let it go when I have to climb in. She gives me this look like if she could talk she’d tell me to go screw. It’s even more incredible when she’s sitting in my seat behind the wheel. She automatically grabs at it like she knows what it’s for, what it does. In Daytona she almost started the damn thing. She reached over to play with all the switches and she hit the ignition. I got this amazing feeling in my gut, like this was it. She was trying to tell me, “Hey dad, I can do this too. I want to do this.”  
   
Ingrid and I have talked numerous times about Ella’s future. How we want to send her to the best schools and give her everything money can buy. We want her to be smart and funny and caring. We want her to have all the good qualities we see in one another. We want her to have friends and know her family. We want her to find her passion and never, ever give up on it. We’re going to support her in everything she chooses to do, back every decision she makes. We want her to be able to talk to us about everything. We want there to be trust between the three of us, no matter what happens.  
   
We both want her to be a racer. Before Ella was even born, before she even had a name, Ingrid went out and got her one of those power wheels cars. It’s a Barbie Porsche or something and it’s neon pink. It’s for preschoolers, toddlers, little kids who get the concept of pushing a pedal to make the thing go. And yet, there it was in the nursery with the crib and the changing table and all the little things that make a nursery a nursery. Ingrid was insistent that she have it, that she be around it and all cars as much as possible. We’d never force our daughter to race, but it’d sure make us plenty happy if she did.  
   
Hell, I’ve already started plotting out her way to the Sprint Cup series. Start out in carting like I did when she’s 5 or 6. Then there’s quarter midgets, sprint cars, street stock, late models, ARCA, Nationwide, and Sprint. Maybe not in that exact order, but they’ll all be there at some point. It’s important to learn them all. To race in every kind of car possible. Who knows, maybe one day she’ll even get to race in IRL a time or two. Maybe some day she’ll set more records than Danica Patrick or Ashley Force. Maybe she’ll set more records than me.  
   
I have to admit, I’d be sort of disappointed if Ella didn’t want to race. It’d probably hurt a little if one day when she’s old enough to really understand the sport, she told me she didn’t like racing and didn’t want to come to the races anymore. It’d upset me if she told me that racing wasn’t her calling and she wanted to do something else. I’d understand and I wouldn’t pressure her to come to races or to get behind the wheel, but it’d sting all the same. It’s not even like she has to race. If she’d rather get into the business side of the sport, I could handle that. But to have her completely wash her hands of it all together, to walk away completely and not care at all…my heart aches just thinking about it.  
   
It’s too soon to tell, though. It’s too soon to get my hopes and expectations up. Right now all I care about is watching my little girl grow up. I want to be there for all the firsts. Her first steps on her own, her first word, her first everything. First best friend, first boyfriend, first breakup, first ballet recital, first school concert. Whatever firsts there are, I don’t want to miss any of them. And if there happens to be a first race or first win or first championship…then so much the better.


	15. 09/02/2008

The sand is cool and soft under my feet, squishy between my toes. The waves crash down onto it in a smooth, pounding rhythm. Up and down, back and forth. Slow and steady and so very relaxing. It's late afternoon, the sun high and bright, covered by a scattering of fluffy white clouds. Next to me, on my left, Ingrid lays stretched out on her stomach, topless so she doesn't get a tan line across her back from the bikini she's wearing. To my right, Ella is playing happily in the sand, wearing her favorite sundress and floppy hat. She's been flinging sand around all afternoon, completely content to pour it into a bucket and then dump it all back out again. I really can't believe she's a year old already. It seems like just yesterday we were in that delivery room…  
   
I love coming here, to our private little slice of paradise. We were married here, we stayed here for the holidays, it's just…so perfect. Ella seems to like it as much as we do. She's always so much more playful and curious than she is when we go home. Not even the baby animals in the Central Park petting zoo can get her as worked up as our little bungalow in Mexico does. I love to watch her play. She can find amusement in the littlest of things. Earlier this morning, we were walking in the surf and she found a seashell. She plopped down right there and studied it for a long while. Turned it over and over, watched the sun shining on it, buried it and unburied it in the sand. It was only when a seagull landed a few feet away that she lost interest. She's so curious about everything these days. Growing up so fast, my beautiful little girl.  
   
I can't wait to have another baby. I've wanted to be a father for as long as I can remember and now that I have one baby, I can't help but want more. I want Ella to have lots of brothers and sisters to play with. I want to have a home filled with love and laughter, and all kinds of toys lying around. Ingrid wants to wait until Ella's potty trained before we start trying again, but I don't know if I can wait that long. She's growing so fast and I don't know if I can handle her not being a baby anymore. I want lots of babies, even if they do eventually grow up.  
   
Another seagull just swooped down by us and Ella's giving it the once over. She can't decide whether it's worth abandoning her bucket and shovel or not. It's so damn cute. Ingrid's got out the camera so she can snag a couple of pictures and I can't help marveling at how gorgeous she is. My girls, my two beautiful girls. I still don't know how the heck I got so darn lucky. God blessed me with two perfect women in my life. I must have done something right somewhere along the line.  
   
I'm so eternally thankful to have Ingrid and Ella in my life. With the way things have been going with my career lately, it's nice to have people around who don't give a damn. I feel like I haven't been performing the way I know that I can, the way I know that I should. It's been ages since I've seen victory lane, or even felt like I've run up to my potential. The cars have been inconsistent and so has my ability. I'm in the chase by some complete miracle but there's times when I don't really feel like I deserve to be there. Jimmie and Junior have been busting their butts all season and they've got the wins and top tens to show it. I haven't made it to victory lane once this season. It makes me feel inadequate.  
   
Rick will never outwardly tell me to step up and fix whatever's wrong, but I can see it in his eyes sometimes. He looks and Jimmie and there's nothing but pride. He looks at Junior and you can feel the emotions coming off of him in waves. Those two have gotten incredibly close this season, and I think a lot of it has to do with a sort of father-son bond between them. Not that either will ever replace what the other lost, but you can see it sometimes, the way Junior goes to Rick for advice the way he never could with his dad. When Rick looks at me, though…sometimes I feel like he just wants to throw a porkchop at me and tell me to get my act together.  
   
Or maybe it's just a guilty conscience. I've always been good at beating myself up.  
   
Ingrid just pulled her top back on and looks about ready to go get some dinner. Think we might go to this cozy little restaurant just up the beach tonight. We all love it there, it's so homey and warm. Right now, all I want to do is spend a little more time with my girls before I have to get back to the real world. The pressure cooker is about to turn way up and I want to put off jumping into it just a little bit longer.


	16. 11/12/2008

I want to write, badly. I need to put pen to paper and just keep it moving for as long as humanly possible. My brain is swimming, one thought after another, moving so fast I can barely keep up. My only constant is the itch to grip a pen. Doesn’t matter what comes out, I just need to keep moving. Maybe it's the time of year that's making me stir crazy. So close to the end, but then it's even closer to starting all over and I don't know which one I dread more. Seems like with every season we finish, it gets harder and harder for me to start again. When I got married, I wanted more time to savor it. When Ingrid had Ella, I wanted more time to just be a dad. I don't know the reason this year, I just know I'm stuck between wanting to start over and hoping the new season never comes. It's sort of sad. I used to love racing more than anything, and now…  
   
I don't know if I care anymore, honestly. I have my wife and my daughter. I have four championships. I've proven I belong in this sport with all the legends. I've done everything I want to, exceeded every goal I've ever had for myself. I made a name for myself. There's nothing left to strive for now.  
   
Well, no. No, that's not true at all. There is always something more to set my eyes on. Always a greater goal to reach for. Still have so many records to break, so many races unwon. Not to mention my still unattained fifth championship. I really thought this was the year. I thought for sure it was mine. And then fucking Jimmie. Again. Part of me hopes he fucks up in Miami and Carl snatches it from him. It's spiteful and mean, but I can't help it. I'm so sick of hearing his name. So sick of all his hype and utter bullshit. I've been in his place; I know how easy it is to choke and fuck up and have everyone giving you that look. I know what it's like to struggle for years to try and redeem yourself from all the downfalls. I want him to have a taste of my downfalls. I want him to know what it feels like to be a has been.  
   
Has been.  
   
I used to hate that term. I hated people telling me I was washed up and over. That my day had come and gone. Then it occurred to me that I could be a never was. I could be like Kyle Petty and Mark Martin, racing for something that'll never be within reach. I honestly don't know how they do it. I don't know that I'd have stuck around this long had I not been this successful. It seems pointless to drive in circles for nothing. I can't even remember the last time, if ever, some of those drivers were in Victory Lane. I was less than thrilled when Rick announced he was bringing Mark to our team. So many talented kids who need a ride and he signs the crypt keeper. It makes no sense to me.  
   
I don't know where all this negativity and bitterness is coming from. I've turned into a cranky old man over the past couple weeks and it's wearing me out. Ingrid's been patient with me but I'm starting to pick up on the annoyance in her eyes. As sick as I am of hearing about Jimmie, it's nothing compared to the bitching she's been listening to. I'm surprised she hasn't gone crazy on me yet, or hauled off and smacked me. I love her for being so damn patient and sympathetic. I really need to make it up to her somehow. Maybe I'll take her to see a play or two during the off season. She's mentioned wanting to see Wicked and Hairspray…I'll see what I can do. She deserves something for putting up with all my crap. I bet she'd enjoy a spa day. Hm. We'll see. Maybe I'll pull a Tom Cruise and have a store shut down for her to go on a shopping spree. Bet she'd like that- even if we can shop in New York without being noticed. Except by TMZ, of course. I still can't believe she told them we're practicing making babies. I love how she can be so damn bold without reservation. I'd be mortified is those words left my mouth.  
   
Ella's rustling around in her room. Should go get her some breakfast ready before she starts calling for us. She gets fussy in the morning if we keep her waiting too long on her breakfast. Yep, she's mine, alright. As if there was ever any doubt. Alright, alright, I'm coming little girl...


	17. 11/17/2008

It figures. It fucking FIGURES. Three in a row. The fucker actually did it. Not that I'm surprised, but fuck. He didn't even mention me in Victory Lane. He barely acknowledged me when I swallowed my pride and went to congratulate him. He didn't even want to look at me. I got more out of Chad than Jimmie. At least Chad knows he owes me as much as he owes Rick. Were it not for me talking up Jimmie as much as I did to get him his ride and sponsors, Chad might not be such a successful Crew Chief. He could've gotten stuck at DEI, floundering with Truex or Menard. Shit, even Chandra gave me a hug and I'm not her favorite person by a long shot. Not with the history Jimmie and I have. The history I wish I could erase, lately. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt as much as it does every time he brushes me off in Victory Lane and his thank you speeches. It really shouldn't hurt so much with all the time that's gone by; with all the things that have changed, but deep down it still burns. I hate that he still has some tiny bit of a hold over me.  
   
I wouldn't change my life for anything. Ingrid was the best thing to ever happen to me. She loves me and accepts me and all my flaws. She knows I'm not perfect and she knows how badly I've been burned in the past. She's been by my side for a long time, through a lot of really difficult times. Ingrid's as close to perfect as a woman can come, and I'm not just looking through rose colored glasses. I've never met anyone who didn't like or get along with my wife. She's incredible. Were it not for her, I'm not sure id' be the man I am today. Between Jimmie and…her…I was a broken, shattered, empty man when I met Ingrid. She helped me put the pieces back together. She filled a lot of the holes the others had left behind.  
   
Still though…there'll always be a void or two that won't go away. I don't know if Jimmie even realizes what he does to me sometimes. He's so happy with Chandra and "their" life, "their" friends, that he barely even notices me anymore. His complete oblivion toward me and our past is probably what makes it sting so bad. If he'd at least acknowledge my existence…fuck if he'd even just FEIGN gratitude, maybe then I could move on for good. It's not like I want him back in the relationship sense, but we WERE friends at one point. Practically family. It'd be nice to be able to just hang out for an hour or two like we used to do.  
   
Guess it's just too much to ask for. Guess I'll just have to skip his victory celebration this year. Not like he'd even miss me, anyway. Ungrateful twit.


	18. 07/29/2009

I’ve been in his place before and I know how hard it is. I know what it’s like to have all the pressure and all the attention pressing down on you. I know what it’s like to not be able to look at your own reflection because all you see is disgust. It’s never an easy thing to deal with, especially for him. For Junior, it’s never enough just to be consistent. He has to work his butt off every week to try and live up to everyone and their mother’s expectations and those of us closest to him can see how worn out he really is. He smiles and laughs and jokes around, but when he thinks no one’s looking he falls to pieces. Every now and then I catch him in the garage, off in a corner alone, looking like little boy lost. He stares off into space, picks at his nails, and generally looks discontent. My heart goes out to him when I see him that way. I wish there was something I could do to protect him. We’re almost the same age and yet in a lot of ways I feel like a father toward him, always looking out for him and worrying about his well being. I try to be there for him, but he’s as stubborn as his dad was, never wanting to admit he needs help or advice. Everything has to be on his own terms or not at all. Of course, I think the biggest blow was losing his cousin. It’s never easy replacing your crew chief, but for the Juniors it was practically Armageddon, no matter how much everyone knew it needed to be done.

Of course, his world is finally beginning to turn right-side-up again. He’s consistent and running well. Indy was totally proof of that. Junior hasn’t qualified inside the top ten in ages. Even his run was stellar; right up until his engine blew up. Despite it all though, not even the stomach flu could keep a smile off his face. I even saw him horsing around with Marty before the race. It’s nice to see the kid we all know and love peak his head out every now and then. Who knows, maybe this week was the turn around. Maybe he’s finally come into his own. Maybe; just maybe he’ll get that elusive win and shed some of the weight off his back. It’d be nice to get the Nay-Sayers off his case and onto new business. I always knew he’d be a headliner, a true bright spot in our sport, but I never imagined it’d be quite like this. I never imagine how dramatic it would truly be. It’s downright insanity. In a lot of ways, his coming to HMS was the best and worst thing he’s ever done and we all know it. He came here to win and get that championship but he’s backslid instead. It gives everyone more reason to doubt him and that’s really the last thing he needs. Sometimes I want to start some kind of controversy just to get all the attention off of him for five minutes.

Yeah, I’m sure Ingrid would love that. We’ve been thoroughly enjoying our time together with Ella out of the spotlight. She’s getting so big so fast now. She’s talking and running and she’s just so animated. We fall in love with her all over again every morning. I can’t wait to have another baby. Ing’s about ready to start trying again too. We’ve spoken about it on and off the past few weeks and I feel like we’re finally ready for it now.

I’ve completely taken a tangent but I can’t help it. Ella and Ingrid are my entire world now and somehow everything always comes back to them. I hope Junior finds this one day, I really do. I want him to settle down and be happy and finally have those kids he’s always talking about. Hell, being teammates with three married men, two of whom are fathers, should b e more than enough to motivate him. I see the way he looks at Ella sometimes. It’s that look of longing that I used to have. That “this could be me” look that I know so well. I really hope he finds someone to make him happy and give him children. He deserves it. He deserves the world.


	19. 03/15/2010

Time truly does fly when you're happy. It's been months since I felt the urge to write, and it's incredible how much has changed, how much everything has come full circle. When Ingrid gave me the news that she was pregnant again, my heart soared. Another baby? Another incredible gift from God? How did I get so lucky? My mind still reels when I stop to think about it. It's like I'm finally being rewarded for all the hard times I had to endure. Everything in my life is so perfect now. Even the bad days are enjoyable lately. The bad days still involve my girls and they make it all bearable.

Ella's growing like a weed and it's incredible to watch. Sometimes it's hard to fathom that this almost three-year-old is the same tiny, precious baby I rocked to sleep at night two years ago. She's learning so much, so quickly. She's potty trained, she talks nonstop, she gets into everything. Last week, Ing found her trying to climb the kitchen cabinets so she could get to the cookie jar. She's smart, so smart. Sometimes I can practically hear the gears in her head turning. She'll watch Ingrid and I doing something and you can just tell she's trying to figure us out. Of course, the most amazing time to watch her is at the track. She's downright amazing around my racecars. Every weekend it's exactly the same. We get onto pit road and she looks up at me with those beautiful blue eyes and asks to sit in the car. She looks so at home in that seat, behind the wheel. This past race in Atlanta, she did the most extraordinary thing of all.

She flipped the ignition switch.

Of all the buttons and knobs on the dash, she flipped the one that starts the damn car up. I was beside myself when the engine cranked. When I looked at her, all I could see was myself. The look in her eyes, the pride and the determination, it was like seeing my reflection in that moment. It's like she's trying to tell me, "Hey Papa, I'm gonna be just like you." I can't wait for her to prove me right. It's the little moments like that that make me wish time would fly. I can't wait to see the kind of person my Ella turns out to be. My gorgeous little girl. Every day is a new adventure for her.

I can’t wait to give Ella a sibling. Ingrid and I just found out we're having a boy, and I'm not really surprised. We've always sort of known it, deep in our guts. When we found out that Jimmie and Chandra were having a girl, that just solidified it for me. Then last week we went for that fateful ultrasound and what we always believed turned out to be true: There's a boy floating around in my wife's belly right now. A little boy to carry on the Gordon name. And when all the people in the world start to celebrate, start to tell us how he'll be the next big name in NASCAR, I'll just smile. I know there'll be another Gordon to follow in my footsteps, but they'll never see her coming, because they won't be looking for her.


	20. 08/17/2010

I forgot just how little sleep you get when there's a baby in the house. Even when they're sound asleep, you lay awake and worry; are they breathing, did they get caught under a blanket, are they wet? A million and one worries race through your mind, but you know what? I wouldn't change a second of it. From the moment I heard little Leo Benjamin cry in the delivery room, I was in love. My heart soared, my smile was so wide I thought my face would break. It was Ella's birth all over again. I looked into Ingrid's eyes and I could see all my emotions mirrored there. We'd been so excited about this moment and here it was. Leo Benjamin Gordon, welcome to the world, my boy. My sweet, sweet, precious boy.

I thought life after Ella's birth was incredible. Everything was new and tiny and nerve wracking. Life with Leo is all that and then some. From the moment my little girl laid eyes on her little brother, life took another incredible turn. Ella took one look at Leo and proclaimed to the room at large, "MINE." She hasn't left his side since we took him home, either. She sits on our lap while we feed him, she sits next to him when he's in his swing, and the other morning I found her sleeping next to his crib. She'd pulled her blanket and pillow off the bed and into his room so she could stay with "her" baby. My heart melts just thinking about it.

For as much as Ella is like me, Leo is all Ingrid so far. He looks like her and he's as laid back as she is. Aside from telling us when he's wet, our little boy never makes a peep. He loves to sleep and hang out in his swing. Every time I look at him, I can't help but smile. This is what I've waited my whole life for- to be a father. Ella made that dream come true and now Leo has made it complete. I've got a daughter, a son, and the woman of my dreams to share it all with. Nothing could make things more perfect right now. Nothing, not even a championship, could make me happier. My heart is soaring and I don't think I'll ever come down, not that I want to.

I can't wait for the day I can have all three of them at the track with me. Ingrid's been home with our children since Leo came home from the hospital, because he can't travel yet, and it's been incredibly lonely for me. I call home every chance I get, but nothing compares to having Ella on my hip and Ing's hand in mine on the starting grid. I miss Ella playing in my car before the race, my good luck kiss from Ing before I climb in. I've stared taping a picture of them in the car so I can see them. I fly home after the checkers and practically run home so I can see them again. Every time I walk through the door, Ella runs to me to fill me in on everything "her" baby did while I was gone. This past weekend, Leo peed all over Ing while she was changing him. Ella thought it was hysterical but Ingrid was completely grossed out. I couldn't help myself; I had to laugh. My little girl is infectious like that. I'd scooped up Leo and cooed at him, teasing Ingrid as I gave him a "way-to-go" for grossing Mama out. Ella joined in with me and soon enough we had Ingrid smiling again, that break-your-heart smile I fell in love with.

It's in moments like that when I know my life is truly and forever complete. Ingrid, Ella, and Leo are all I'll ever need from here on out.


End file.
